


Tic-Tac-Toe

by Milaryn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, Fluff, M/M, Mostly fluff despite the other tags, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vague descriptions of people dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milaryn/pseuds/Milaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>photojournalist!Steve recovering from PTSD, AU - Steve wins a photojournalism award and a gallery exhibit is held for his photos. There, he meets someone who seems hauntingly familiar again for the first time in years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tic-Tac-Toe

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction, so any details or references to real life situations are exaggerated or minimized or is a coincidence all for this work's purpose.
> 
> Thank you so much to [blackidyll](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/) for much hand-holding, helping me get through writing this many words and last minute beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are solely my fault.
> 
> This was written for the Steve/Bucky Big Bang 2014 - sadly I don't have any art to link to... But [blackidyll](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/), being the AMAZING person that she is, made a banner for my fic~

**Tic-Tac-Toe**

_In a 2-player game with 362,880 possible combination of moves, the ideal situation would be a draw._

 

**\--Prologue--**

As Steve stands in the middle of his work studio, he eyes the positions of the light reflectors and the light modifiers, adjusts the curtains by the two windows and then reshelves one of the backgrounds he had been working on. Striding over to his work desk, he straightens up a pile of disheveled magazines, lines up the photo frames by his work computer and then picks up a photo frame with a fading polaroid.

He misses taking photos with a film camera despite the convenience of digital cameras. It’s just not the same because developing his own film gives him a certain sense of satisfaction and closeness with his parents - the familiar smell of chemicals inside the dark room and the fond memories of his parents warning him not to touch anything. From a young age, Steve would sit on a high chair and quietly watch his parents as they worked.

He thinks fondly of his parents - the easy silent communication between them, the gentle touches, the warm looks, the love; his father lingering in the background and the soft hands of his mother as she gently held his small hands within hers, the grip tightening as his small hands fumbled with a clamp that was too big for him as he tried to help hang up a developing picture.

When he had turned seven, his parents had given him his first camera - it was a Polaroid Instant - and he had gleefully gone on a photo taking spree. Steve was sickly as a child, so when he finished taking pictures of everything inside the house, he would cling to his polaroid camera on the rare few days when he had been deemed well enough to wander outdoors and take snapshots of everything and everyone.

Having his own camera meant that there were new ways for him to view the world and Steve kept the first few photos he had ever taken. Steve remembers the warmth he felt from the proud look his father gave him the first time he successfully develop a roll of film on his own. His parents had enjoyed photography as a hobby and encouraged Steve when he had been old enough to show any interest. Even now he has a lot of photo albums stored away safely with all their precious memories.

Pictures of his parents always bring back bittersweet memories as his father had died shortly after he’d gotten his first camera. However, it was also around this time when he’d made his first friend with a chubby kid that had moved next door. Having a distinct lack of friends to take photos of, this childhood friend ended up being the most common subject in his photos and being his first friend ever meant the other boy had left a deep impression on him - Steve still wonders how he is doing sometimes.

There are rarely any photos of the two of them together except for the one that Steve’s mother had taken. She had written their names underneath it, but because Steve had looked at it so much after his friend moved away, his fingers had smudged the names. The polaroid is also very old and patches of it were fading, so Steve doesn't fully recall how his friend looked like, although he does have fond memories of sunshine and shared laughter, sticky hands and grass stains.

His cellphone rings and Steve is pulled from reminiscing about his long lost childhood friend. Steve has been expecting a call from Coulson for the past week regarding his photo reel submission for a Pulitzer Prize. Coulson contacting him meant that he finally had news for him regardless of good or bad, and Steve nervously picks up.

 

* * *

 

**\--Day 1--**

Steve tugs at his collar and fidgets uncomfortably in the newly pressed suit that Coulson made him wear. It’s the opening night of SHIELD's gallery featuring Steve's photos – the photos that Steve took when he had been sent on assignment to quietly report and record the situation unraveling in the Middle East area, an assignment that Steve had wanted to be a part of ever since the US withdrew their troops from Iraq.

Fury had been extremely pleased when Steve had won the Pulitzer Prize for Breaking News Photography on this assignment as it is good PR for Fury’s company. Steve is just grateful that one of his photos - taken while he was in Syria - had managed to garner this much attention. Steve is uncomfortable with being paraded around like a show pony, but Fury insisted on this gallery exhibit as Steve's work deserves to be shown and if they were to do an auction of his photos, they could send the proceeds to a refugee aid organization. Steve had not taken the photos with the thought of money in mind, but only to expose the truth and while he's a certain degree of uncomfortable about the fact that it's his photos that are being bidded on, he consoles himself with the fact that he is helping in some other way.

He had jumped at the chance when SHIELD gave him a dream opportunity despite the danger and risks involved in going to Syria. His six month stay there had really opened his eyes and contributed to his growth as a photojournalist. He had tried to remain a professional observer, but when the refugee group he had been staying with was taken over by religious fanatics, he had failed at remaining detached or aloof. His instructions had been to stay out of trouble as well as escape as soon as there was any threat on his life, but he never was very good at following orders. Well, then he went and got himself captured because he couldn't just stand back and do nothing when his friends had been in danger. Steve still marvels at how quickly Fury managed to get him extracted from the delicate situation - an American photojournalist held captive when American troops were not allowed to be there.

Syria had been the most tumultuous country he'd worked in and he always had to keep one eye on his camera. As a photojournalist, the constant weight of a camera around his neck reassures him that he would not miss any chance of snapping a photo of any situation if the need arises. For tonight however, Coulson had taken away Steve’s cameras and he feels their lack of presence keenly. Fiddling with his cufflinks, Steve tries to go over the points of his short speech for the gallery’s opening welcome which Fury had firmly suggested he do, but to no avail as his thoughts keep wandering.

The award winning photo is going to be showcased in the center of the gallery but Steve shivers at the memories associated with it. It was something he took on one of the last days spent in the refugee camps in Syria before a task force rescued him. He remembered that he had been sorting through their supply crates when gunshots rang out at the camp and shouting and screaming came from all around him. Steve had to control the urge to run towards danger and instead slipped out behind the tents for a better vantage point. He was determined to take a shot of what was happening so that it could get back over to the States. It was his job to report on things like this - his chance to finally make a difference.

It is a photo of the religious fanatics as they lined up the adult refugees and some of the soldiers and the fanatics had shot them in cold blood, one by one, while the children and other hostages were forced into trucks in the background. Steve had been occupied with keeping an eye out for any chance to help them - having lived with and befriended the refugees and soldiers for the past couple of months despite having to remain professional - so he must have reacted instinctively because he doesn’t actually remember taking this precise photograph. Steve does remember feeling desperate and something inside him had snapped and he was going to leap into the fray, but someone ambushed him from behind and whacked him on the head with the bottom of a rifle. While Steve reeled in pain, he tenaciously clung to his camera, but it was knocked out of his hands and destroyed. He later found out that the memory card had been damaged but the photos had somehow been salvageable. He was kicked and beaten until he had been dragged out and pushed into a truck with the rest of the hostages. How swiftly death and violence had descended without warning and as these memories come back as clear as day, Steve is overcome with raw emotion and anguish.

Feeling tears well up, Steve shuts his eyes and he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms, the pain grounding him as he finds himself breathing heavily and trembling at the effort to calm down from hyperventilating. He wishes that he could've done more for them, and while he rationally understands that he's only a photojournalist and not a soldier he can't help but think that if he had not been careless and gotten caught off guard, he could at least have sent for reinforcements but then he remembers the pain and the ----

He feels someone tap his right shoulder, his eyes snap open as he flinches and jerks away before realizing that it's Coulson. Steve had broken into a cold sweat and his hands are clammy and trembling. Steve mentally shakes himself. He's no longer in the Middle East and he needs to control this -- they are minutes away from the gallery opening and he can't just have a breakdown before it even starts.

“I'm sorry if I startled you, Steve, but I called out to you and you didn't respond.” Coulson has an uncharacteristically concerned look as he picks up on Steve's pale face and slight trembling. “It’s been three months and it seemed like you were doing fine but...but it looks like this may have been too soon..?” He hesitantly trails off.

Steve frowns and shakes his head as he clasps his hands together behind his back and tries to control the trembling.

“No, I... we need to do this. It's important that more people see and know about the situation. That’s the whole point of having my photos on display.”

Coulson pierces him with a searching look for a moment before giving a small nod.

“If, at any time or moment you feel that this is too much, please let me know.” He pauses to let the words sink in before smiling thinly and says, “You know there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Uncertain if Steve will jump away or not, Coulson reaches over gingerly and pats him on the arm. Steve tries not to shrink away as he looks intently at Coulson, searching for any sign of what he is thinking.

“Fury doesn’t say anything, but we’re glad that we got you back. If you need to take some time, you deserve to have it.”

Steve breathes slightly easier when he only sees worry in Coulson’s eyes. He can’t handle pity or the anxious careful look that he's seen directed at him like he’s going to break at any moment. Coulson just lets out a small sigh before backing out of the room to allow Steve some time to compose himself.

Steve takes a couple of deep breaths, tells himself he can do this and forces himself to go over the few points he was going to say in his short speech.

_'I have to do this. It's in memory of the dead and also for others that are still living through this type of situation. I can do this.'_

Straightening his shoulders and fixing a polite smile on his face, Steve steels himself for a long night.

\------------------------------------

A portable mic is pinned on Steve’s lapels, he’s given a glass of champagne and then ushered onto a makeshift stage - it’s a temporarily raised area next to the central display so that most people can see him. As he clears his throat and says ‘Testing, testing’ into the mic, the chatter slowly dies down as the invited guests turn to look at him.

He freezes, uncomfortable with all the attention on him before he coughs quickly to cover the moment. As long as he acts like he’s fine, the sooner he’ll be able to finish this welcome and move away from the spotlight.

"Hi -- I’m sure at this point, you all know who I am, but I would like to let you guys know that I’m Steve.” At this point, he raises his glass in cheers awkwardly as chuckles litter the audience and they raise theirs in return.

“Welcome to the gallery opening tonight, on behalf of myself and my friends back in the conflict area, I would like to thank you all for showing your support. I promise to keep this short so first I would like to mention that by using the mini screens beside the biddable photos, you can enter your name and amount and it will keep track of everything. All proceeds will be sent to help aid the refugee camps.” Steve swallows back the lump in his throat and continues.

“Having experienced what it is like over there - the lack of security, the uncertainty of not knowing when much needed supplies would arrive, having to live each day wondering when the conflict will ever end. It.. was, and is, a trying time; my last days over there particularly so when I lost many of my friends to the unnecessary violence.”

His throat dry, Steve takes a sip of champagne and says, “Please join me in my moment of silence in memory of them.” He pauses for another couple of moments, thinking back to his friends that had been killed and tries not to dwell on the lingering feeling of guilt and helplessness. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to continue.

“Please do take your time in the gallery and feel free to come back another day, I could do with the company." Steve smiles wryly before gesturing to the side. "There are refreshments over by the side tables and I’ve heard that the champagne is unlimited." A few cheers were given at that. "Since I promised to keep it short, I will now pass this on to Nick Fury, the man that gave me this life-changing opportunity."

As Fury steps up to take over, Steve dodges his one-eyed gaze while he finishes off his part. “Once again, thank you for coming and please enjoy the evening.”

Steve quickly leaves the makeshift stage, but is accosted by Coulson before Steve can get far. The portable mic is removed carefully from his suit as Steve eyes the older man warily, but Coulson only graces him with a small controlled smile and a pat on the back before slipping off.

\------------------------------------

**X.**

Now that Steve’s part of the welcoming speech over, he feels slightly claustrophobic at the gathering of people and decides to do a quick sweep around the gallery. He can double-check the photos on display and buy some time to compose himself while the guests are occupied listening to Fury.

He decides that starting from the back of the gallery would be the most efficient place to begin his task as he does not expect to encounter anyone. However when he arrives, he sees someone standing in front of the smaller displays and leaning down to tap something into the screen next to it.

Steve glances at the photo and sees that it’s one of the earlier ones taken when he had first landed in the area. The sky was a hazy yellow and orange, the beginnings of dusk settling in as the silhouettes of the town and people as well their shadows contrasted beautifully with the setting sun. Steve’s hands had moved automatically and multiple shots were taken while he admired the view.

Startled blue eyes turn towards Steve as he approaches and he catches a glimpse of interest before it shutters into an unreadable look. There’s something about his eyes that seem so familiar, but Steve can’t seem to recall what it is. The guest straightens up and smooths down his fitted gray vest, a lazy smirk crossing his face as he angles his head and taps his messenger cap in acknowledgment of Steve's presence. Steve in turn finds himself suddenly feeling the wind knocked out of him and his hands instinctively reaching for a camera that is not there. Considering how this man holds himself, there’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing or what sort of effect he has on others. Steve wonders if he can convince this guest to come back on another day when he has a proper camera with him.

Realizing that the silence had stretched longer than is appropriate, Steve clears his throat and says, “Hi, what are you doing back here? Fury’s making his speech and I believe that’s where everyone is right now.”

The man lets out a low amused huff, “Am I not allowed to be here?”

“Well... you are, but..”

A roguish grin spreads across the man’s face. “Then it’s not a problem, correct? I wanted to look at this piece for a while longer before anyone could interrupt me.”

Steve scratches the side of his head and smiles sheepishly in return. “Um well, if I’m bothering you, I’ll leave you alone.”

“No no, it’s fine. I’ve finished anyways. Please, don’t let me interrupt whatever it is that you were going to do.” The man responds in what seems to be a teasing tone and Steve gives the man a once over before shaking his head and deflects back to the photo.

“But you’ve roused my curiosity. What was it about this photo that caught your attention?”

However as the handsome man was about to respond, his attention was focused on a point behind Steve instead. Steve turns to see who is behind him and as he does so, the man leans in next to him and quickly whispers, “Looks like our time has run out. I’ll see you around, Steve.”

Steve feels his arm tingle as the man brushes past Steve, nodding at Coulson on his way to the front of the gallery where the rest of the guests are.

Coulson eyes the back of the man curiously before turning to Steve who looks flustered and says in a deadpan voice, “Rogers. Your cheeks are pink.”

Slightly embarrassed, Steve just shakes his head vigorously and asks, “Where do you need me now? Is Fury done?”

Coulson smothers a chuckle and pats Steve on the shoulder. “I see you're feeling better. Come on, let’s go. You’ve got guests to entertain tonight.”

\------------------------------------

**O.**

It's not that he's inattentive of the people he's currently mingling with - it's more that he can't stop himself from wondering who that attractive man is. Steve remembers almost every face that he's seen and there's just something familiar about that man that he can't quite put his finger on. He lets Coulson lead him around like a prize show dog, absentmindedly smiling or nodding in agreement when Coulson clears his throat - all the while sifting through his memories for some inkling of who or where he’s seen that mysterious man before.

He’s rudely jerked out of his thoughts when manicured fingers with dark red nail polish snap in front of his face. Refocusing back to his current surroundings, Steve sees that he’s somehow made it to the refreshments area. It seems that Coulson had realized that he wasn’t going to get much more out of Steve and deposited him with Clint.

When Steve first joined SHIELD, his partner had been Clint, a fellow journalist with a hobby in makeup. They traveled to different places around the world to do articles on various topics ranging from food and travel to political upheavals. Steve had been sent off alone on assignment to Syria a few months later, but even though they only spent a short time working together, they got along like a house on fire. After Steve was rescued from being held hostage, he was made to recuperate despite his wishes to continue working. To prevent him from going stir-crazy with nothing to do, Clint often dropped by after work and check up on him.

Clint had only needed to take one look at Steve’s faraway gaze before silently nudging him in the direction of the refreshments table, deciding to let Natasha deal with Steve instead. He sees Clint and Natasha both staring at him with various degrees of amusement and then the one man that he wanted to see again stands just behind Natasha, busy piling a plate with food.

Natasha is a longtime acquaintance of Clint’s and Steve is not too sure about their relationship (it seems to fluctuate from what he’s seen of Clint’s mood swings), but he’s also heard about her from Coulson because she is an ‘upcoming independent talent’ that Fury had been keeping an eye on.

Steve had only met her properly for the first time when they were both at the Pulitzer Prize award lunch ceremony as they’d been assigned to the same table. They didn’t have much of a chance to talk after the ceremony, but she had helped him out of a tense situation. When the ceremony ended and Steve had been preparing to leave, he had been overwhelmed with the media and the crowds, the flashing cameras and the press of people all straining to get past the security guards to yell questions at him.

The questions ranged from about ‘his time being held hostage and what happened and if he’d been tortured, how and what had they done to him’ to ‘if the government was going to do anything about this happening to an American citizen’ and ‘did he like it there, was he going to go back or not’ (as if Steve could even go back now, not with all the publicity he had been receiving). Steve had begun to feel short of breath and trapped, needing to escape before he caused a scene and then he felt someone’s hand on his arm, steering him towards the company car.

As he squinted at the person through the flashes and the press of people around him, he saw that it was Natasha and he had never been so glad to see a friendly face. She proceeded to shove him into the company car with a strength one would not expect from a person of her stature and she waved at him from the other side of the window as he gratefully looked back out at her - the noise and throng of the crowd disconnected now that he was safely in the car.

They kept in touch after that, sending a message here and there when they had something of interest to pass along, swapped tips on camera settings and lighting tricks to create a certain effect. Steve discovered that Natasha had a knack for manipulating a scene until it fit what she needed, while Steve had always been good at eyeing angles and managing lighting and its settings.

Steve is pleased to see her here tonight, Natasha is wearing a simple black dress that hugs all her curves with a slit high enough to hint at leg, but he keeps sneaking glances at her companion instead. He can’t keep his eyes off him, not after the fact that he's been thinking about him all night. Natasha snaps her fingers in front of his face again, a small smug smirk on her face when she sees how distracted he is. She looks at Clint with a raised eyebrow and they have a silent conversation consisting of some language only the two of them knew, because Clint just nods after a moment and they shake hands. Their wordless communication complete, she turns back to tease Steve.

“Steve, you should wipe your mouth. You’re drooling.”

Caught off guard for the third time tonight, Steve scratches the side of his head bashfully and tears his eyes away from the man. He looks at her apologetically.

“Natasha, it really is good to see you tonight. I'm really sorry for being so...distracted. It's just... I feel like I've seen that guy before."

He steals another glance and is surprised to see the man looking over at him thoughtfully before his expression morphs into a suggestive smile and he blatantly eyes Steve up and down. Steve feels himself turn warm at the man’s lingering looks and turns almost desperately to Natasha for help. She suppresses a snort of amusement and cryptically says, “You have seen him before though.”

With those parting words, she throws a wink at Clint before turning around to walk over to the refreshment table. Clint silently facepalms and claps Steve on the back.

“You’ve got it real bad, buddy.”

Steve half-heartedly protests, his attention on Natasha as she saunters over to the man. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow and offers her the plate of food when she gets closer. She crooks a finger at him instead, beckoning him to lean closer towards her. He looks rather unimpressed before grudgingly obliging her and she must have said something interesting because his face flickers from exasperation to cool impassiveness in an instant.

However, as Steve sees Natasha’s lithe form standing next to the gorgeous man angled towards her, he is suddenly hit with the memory he had spent most of the night searching for. He actually has seen him before, when he and Clint had been sent to Barcelona for a travel article. He remembers that particular assignment because Clint had been in a particularly good mood for the week. Natasha used to be a model with Krasnaya Komnata -a Russian agency- and she traveled a lot for work like Clint did; thus whenever their busy schedules allowed them to meet up, Clint would be ridiculously pleased with life.

Steve had looked forward to finally meeting Natasha after having heard about her so much. Due to last minute changes in her schedule, Natasha ended up not being able to get away. However, Clint didn’t let that deter them from casually dropping by the beach area where she was having her photoshoot and he gloomily pointed her out from the distance. He had sneaked a couple of photos of her to cheer Clint up and when he had loaded the memory card onto his work laptop and selected a few photos to show him, Clint brightened up considerably.

The photos turned out rather well despite the distance and the slight overexposure because there was too much sun without cloud cover. Steve critically observed one of the photos where Natasha was with a very attractive man whom Steve assumed is also a model. Natasha was wearing a classic bikini top with a flowery skirt wrap, and her floppy straw sun hat had done nothing to mute the colors of her fiery red hair. She had tilted it up to reveal a teasing smirk while adjusting her sunglasses and the man next to her had looked coolly unimpressed with a raised eyebrow, eyes squinted against the sunlight with a pursed mouth. In contrast to Natasha’s attire, he was obviously prepped with another theme because rolled up suit pants, a white dress shirt with long sleeves folded two-thirds up his toned arms, and a navy grey blazer hanging so low off his waist that it looked like it’d slip off any moment was very obviously not beachwear.

When Steve pointed the man out to Clint, Clint had only shrugged and said that it was probably someone Natasha worked with. After he emailed the photo to Clint at his request, Steve remembered looking through the rest to see if he managed to take any more of that man and found only one other of him and Natasha.

It’s a profile view of Natasha, distracted with the seagulls that were flying up behind her, a small smile tugging at her lips and softening the sharp edges of her face. The man next to her however, Steve had managed to capture an unguarded look from him. The stiff look from earlier had given way to a crinkle around his eyes and the quirk of his smile showed exasperated fondness. Even the slightest curve of his mouth has emphasized his dimples - it was the complete opposite from the previous photo.

Steve had taken one hard look at the photo, swallowed with some difficulty and closed the file before Clint could anything.

He's still lost in thought when Natasha and the companion from the beach return with a couple of plates and champagne. The man wordlessly hands Steve a glass and a plate, but seems to be avoiding Steve’s gaze despite Steve thanking him directly. Natasha is handing off her plate to Clint when she notices this and looks at the man rather pointedly.

"James. This is Clint and this is Steve." Steve  _finally_ has a name to go with the face.

Clint holds out his unoccupied hand and James reaches over and shakes firmly. “Thanks for watching out for Nat.”

Eyes softening, James give a crooked smile and says, “Just returning the favor.”

Then seeming to realise where he is, he stiffens and turns to Steve with a rather curt, “Pleased to meet you” before quickly excusing himself to go to the men’s room.

Perplexed by James’ suddenly cold attitude, Steve debates internally if he should go after him. At this moment however, a stern voice unexpectedly says from behind him, “Is this where you’ve been hiding, Rogers?”

Steve flounders at Fury’s sudden presence and almost drops everything that he's holding. He doesn’t like being snuck up on after that situation in Syria and Fury really should have know that. When he turns towards him, Fury has a slightly apologetic look and Steve nods stiffly at him.

“No, uh.. I just got here myself. Needed a little break.” Steve hears Clint snort, and makes an aborted shooing motion at him on Fury’s blind side.

“I actually looking for Barton too.” Fury raises his voice, “Barton, finish stuffing your face and come along. I need you with Rogers.”

Not for the first time, Steve wonders if the eye patch covering Fury’s left eye is just a decoration because he seems to see everything even with only one eye.

Fury had been firm about Steve needing to put up appearances and butter up the sponsors as well as some clients and guests Fury had deemed ‘critical to keep happy,’ in case someone came along and poached his clients. Since Clint is Steve’s partner, Fury tasked him with keeping an eye on Steve as well as to steer topics to safe waters if anything came up. Steve understands the need for Clint to be there, but he doesn’t really want to be babysat.

He sees Natasha chatting and mingling with the guests like he is, and is only mildly distracted when he see James lingering around some of the lesser populated displays. It looks like he avoids the more crowded areas because of his model-like looks; every time Steve catches sight of him, he is always being accosted by someone - male and female. They don’t seem deterred by his distant attitude and halfhearted responses but Steve is secretly pleased to see that eventually all of them turn away in disappointment -- not that he's been looking at James all night or anything, it's just that his eyes somehow naturally track back to him every time there's a lull in conversation. However, for the rest of the night, Steve doesn’t get another chance to chat with Natasha or James.

Steve feels the telltale prickle of eyes watching him at various times over the course of the night, always when he's mingling with drunk guests that are too touchy-feely or get too close to his personal bubble despite Clint running interference. Sometimes Steve is busy imagining a calm place so he doesn't have a panic attack in the middle of all these guests and the prickle is discomforting but distracting enough that it helps ground him.

He never does catch who it is that was watching him.

 

* * *

 

**\--Day 2--**

**O.**

Sam texted him earlier in the week about dropping by to show his support, but Steve doesn't know how he would react to some of the photos. He’s doing his normal walkthrough when he comes upon Sam standing in front of one particular photo that is on display. Steve knows where all the photos are positioned and this one in particular makes his heart ache. Steve walks up next to Sam and slowly places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in response when Sam stiffens, but then he loosens in acknowledgment of Steve’s presence. Steve keeps his grip on Sam’s shoulder in support as the two of them look at the photo and for a long moment, neither of them say anything.

Steve knows the exact day he took the photo because he snapped it a couple of hours before their refugee camp had been seized. It captures Sam and his partner Riley entertaining some of the sick refugee children while the doctors prepped their treatments and the atmosphere had been relaxed and happy despite the conditions. It was such a refreshing change from the normal desolate expressions and Steve had been glad for that opportunity to snap a shot of it. The two of them looked less tense than they had been all week, and Steve couldn’t resist taking a photo of Sam with Riley because of how well they worked together.

He met Sam and Riley while he was staying with that particular refugee camp. They were a squad of fourteen, two teams of seven, each with a commanding officer - sergeant, two medics and four soldiers, each soldier with their own specialties. Sam and Riley were the medics for one of the teams and because this particular refugee camp Steve had ended up at was one of the smaller ones, they didn’t need as many soldiers to guard them. They had been low on clean water and medicine for the past week and that day, the guards had been antsy and worried about the delivery of the delayed supplies. The sentries had not suspected anything because it was the same number of supply trucks that arrived every other week with the proper documents, but when they went to check in the back, the extremists quickly revealed themselves and piled out of the trucks, shooting anyone that looked like a threat.

Steve had been sorting through their current supply crates and keeping inventory when shots rang out at the camp. He snuck out behind the medical tents and had set his camera on automatic, hoping for some good shots.

However, he had been greeted with the sight of Riley on the floor and helplessly watched Sam with the remaining members of his team slowly drop their weapons and raise their hands above their head and sink to their knees as the extremists shouted and gestured at them violently - subjecting them to a body search and roughly relieved of any other weapons.

The rest of refugees had been forced to their knees beside the soldiers and the zealots had pointed a gun at each of them, shouted something and shot them, one by one. Steve did not want to see so many people die and had taken one look at the devastated and furious expression in Sam’s eyes before he threw caution to the wind and leaped into the fray. Steve’s impulsive actions just led to him being captured along with the children and other hostages. Head wounded and delirious with pain, he passed out shortly after being loaded onto the trucks.

Sam’s full body shudder jerks Steve back to the present.

“I just...sometimes I just feel like he’s not gone.” Sam swallows hard and turns to look at Steve, eyes dry but still full of grief. “Sometimes, I go sit at that dinky coffee shop near my place just to pass the time. If I see anything interesting, I find myself turning to point it out… but then I realize, who am I pointing it out to?”

Sam grips Steve on the forearm tightly and Steve just nods in sympathy. He is not sure what to say because Sam’s grief is thick in the air.

“I know it’s been three months but ---- it’s like everything is good and fine some days, and then some days it just hits really hard, you know?”

Steve tries to understand what Sam is going through, but he also knows that everyone processes grief differently. He had been a sickly child and one nasty winter when he was eight, he had fallen severely ill. His father had been worried and was coming back from getting medicine when he had been killed in a car accident. His mother had made it clear she did not blame him, but Steve could not put down the guilt of being the cause of his father’s death. He had not been strong enough to get better faster, and if he hadn’t caused his father to worry so much, he would still be alive now. The only things he has left of his father are the memories of when he had been young and the photos they had taken together. It’s partly why he feels such a need to take photos, to preserve the lives and memories as a reminder and a form of proof that one had existed even if memories would fade with time.

He hesitantly ask Sam, “I asked before but it might have been too soon back then. Do you… do you want a copy of that photo now?”

Sam goes still, before nodding jerkily.

“Steve… Do you mind if I..?”

Sam reaches out for a hug and Steve stiffens in reflex at the sudden closeness before he closes his eyes and leans into Sam's embrace. He hasn’t had such close contact in a while and he knows that Sam needed something to ground him, so he silently endures it. After a moment, Sam releases him and Steve pats him on the back sympathetically.

“I’ll send it to you tonight. Let’s go for a drink some time okay, Sam? My treat.”

Sam nods before suddenly looking sharply behind him, a confused look on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Steve looks around to see what had caught Sam’s attention.

“Nothing, I think… I’m being paranoid, I thought I felt someone watching.” Sam shakes his head. “Anyways, I’ll take you up on that offer, Steve, just let me text me. I’ll be around for a bit, see you later, okay?”

With one last look at the display, Sam just smiles sadly and walks away from Steve.

\------------------------------------

**X.**

It’s another busy day for Steve - Coulson keeps him on a tighter leash after Steve’s inattention yesterday and a flood of guests that couldn’t make it to the opening night came today instead. Throughout the day, he thinks he catches glimpses of James, but Steve chalks it down to wishful thinking. Steve doesn’t expect to see him, so he isn’t prepared when he bumps into James in the men’s washroom.

“Oh, hi. Didn’t expect to see you today.’’

It’s only lunch time, but it already feels longer and while Steve’s pleased to see James, he’s not sure how to handle him after yesterday’s curt brush-off.

“I... left something behind yesterday. I just realized I didn’t have it, so I came by to see if it was here.”

An uncomfortable sort of tension seems to emanate from James.

“What did you leave behind? I can ask if anyone picked it up,” Steve helpfully offers.

“Nah, it’s ok. It’s probably gone by now.”

There’s another awkward pause as Steve leans in front of the sink and splashes water on his face, massaging his cheeks - plastering a permanent smile on his face when entertaining the clients is really tiring - when a bunch of paper towels are thrust next to him. Pleasantly surprised, he mumbles his thanks at James as he wipes his face, but when Steve looks up, James is no longer there.

Still baffled by James’ actions, Steve pulls out his phone and texts Natasha to see if she’s around today, hoping that if she is, he can get her to explain this confusing man. She responds almost instantly, saying that she’s busy today, but will drop by tomorrow.

Disappointed, Steve pockets his phone and mentally prepares himself to meet and greet more sponsors. The rest of the day passes in a blur and one of the guests must have commented on Steve’s spaced-out look because at the end of the day, Coulson pulls him aside for a little chat.

Coulson eyes him impassively and quietly asks, “Is everything ok?”

Steve struggles for a moment about whether he should say anything about James.

“No one is bothering you too much, are they?”

Judging from the twinkle in Coulson’s eyes, Steve instantly knows that Coulson knows exactly what is going on with him. Tired at being read so easily, Steve responds shortly, “Everything’s fine. I’m just... It’s been a long day.”

Coulson seems to know that he had been discovered so he doesn’t push the issue and just says, “It’s cold tonight, do you need a ride home?”

Steve declines politely and turns away, feeling Coulson's gaze as he heads home for the night. Steve knows that Coulson is only worried about him, but he doesn’t want special treatment or to be coddled.

 

* * *

 

**\--Day 3--**

Bucky wakes up to someone unrelentingly knocking on his bedroom door. He groans, pulls his blankets over his head and yells a muffled, “Go away!” before trying to go back to sleep. The knocking abruptly stops and Bucky is about to congratulate himself for being left alone when his door suddenly bursts open and then his curtains are being pushed aside and bright, bright sunlight burns through his closed eyelids despite his best efforts to hide.

He only knows one person that would disturb him like this and tries to bury himself deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets, hoping that if he ignored her, she would go away. She obviously has other plans when she expertly digs a finger into the bottom of his foot straight through layers of blanket how does she even do that and he jerks up with a yelp, brandishing his pillow and clutching the blankets to himself like a shield.

Having moved to New York City recently, it is Natasha, the only familiar face he knows around here. Bucky used to work with Natasha in Krasnaya Komnata, but she left the agency around a year ago without a word and moved to America. Bucky had been slightly hurt at the fact that she never told him about her plans to leave, but when the agency wanted to expand into the States, he had jumped at the chance for the long-term relocation. Not having heard from her for a year, he was surprised when Natasha had greeted him at the airport like they hadn’t dropped out of touch and he wondered if she had been keeping tabs on him.

Yawning, Bucky tries to keep an eye on her in case of further attacks, but she stands there, hands on hips and smiling viciously.

“That,” she gestures at his foot, “was for making me wait.”

He groans again and wonders if he wants to risk rolling back into bed, but catches her eye and sees the barely veiled threat there. Mentally sighing, he sits at the edge of his bed and huffs tiredly.

“What do you want, Nat.”

She ignores him and looks around his room with a raised eyebrow; Bucky is suddenly conscious of his bare walls, the messy pile of laundry he’s been meaning to do at the foot of his bed and the half unpacked boxes haphazardly placed around his room.

“James, you've been here for nearly a month."

He drops the pillow and stretches backwards until he hears something crack.

“So…?”

She sends him a supremely unimpressed look.

Bucky shrugs and says defensively, “I’ve been busy with work.”

He feels waves of disapproval coming from her and he just shrugs again. It’s true that he had been busy enough with work that by the time he gets home, he only wants to drop into bed and never move again.

“Why are you here, Nat.”

Seeing that it's pointless to continue the previous conversation, she gets straight to the point.

“We’re going to the gallery today.”

He stares at her blankly before blanching at her words. “I’m sorry, what?”

She eyes him suspiciously as Bucky stares at a point behind her, avoiding her gaze.

“James. Explain,” she says blandly.

Bucky doesn’t want to, especially not to Nat, but as the silence stretches out, he squirms under her steady gaze. They’ve played this type of game before and Bucky is good at it even if Nat always wins. This situation is different though, so when Bucky can’t take the pressure anymore, he stands up in a rush.

“I’m going to shower. You can just sit there and stare at my blank... empty... wall.”

He hopes that he can avoid having to say anything, but Nat just takes a seat on his bed and crosses her arms while examining her nails boredly.

“I can wait.”

Bucky stands there, rooted, torn between wanting to tell Nat, but also embarrassed at the reason to why he didn’t want to go.

“I… I went there yesterday and bumped into Steve if I go today I don’t want him tothinkI’mstalkinghim.” He says the last part in a rush.

Nat looks up as if surprised he’s still standing there before smirking wickedly at him.

“I know. I just wanted to hear you confirm it.”

Bucky deflates and sits down on the bed next to her.

“I don’t know why I’m drawn to him, Nat.” He looks at her imploringly. “There’s just.. something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s different.”

He catches her looking pleased as punch and scowls at her, mind slowly connecting the dots.

“Nat, what are you looking so pleased about.”

She coughs lightly and deflects his question, “James. I just need you to know that if you compromise my friendship with Steve because you can’t control yourself --”

Bucky interrupts her, “It’s definitely not like when I had a different date every week, Nat, I was trying to prove a point.” He pauses, unsure about how to voice what he is feeling, ”Steve… Steve is...”

She pats him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Honestly, it’s not my business, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bucky knows that is a lie because Nat always finds out what happens even when she says she doesn’t want to know. He sighs to himself as she dismisses him and points towards the bathroom.

“It’ll be fine. Go get cleaned up, we’re leaving in 30.”

He frowns at her as he considers the situation - if she had never dragged him to this gallery exhibit in the first place, he would never have met Steve.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d have thought it was just a coincidence that I met Steve..." He gives her a hard look, "...But since I know better, this was your nefarious plan all along to set me up, wasn’t it?”

Natasha just smirks at him like a cat with cream and he makes an exasperated noise.

“You meddle too much, Nat.”

\------------------------------------

**X.**

Steve is doing his usual rounds when he comes across James standing in front of the particular photo that he and Sam had been looking at yesterday.

It doesn’t seem like James is avoiding him anymore since his posture is almost relaxed when he tilts his head, acknowledging Steve's presence. When he turns back to the photo, he seems closed off and contemplative. Steve, on the other hand, is still raw from the emotions Sam had dragged up yesterday and looks at the photo restlessly.

After he had passed out in the truck, he doesn't know how much time had passed from when he had been captured to when he was rescued. He had been filled with grief and regret at the death of his friends - if only he had been stronger, if only he had been able to call for reinforcements, if only he hadn’t been so impulsive. His captors would come in once in a while and kick him around, but the combination of the constant throbbing pain on the back of his head and the neverending pound of a headache was enough to make everything pass in a blur. Steve drifted in and out of unconsciousness until one time he opens his eyes and it’s Sam's face hovering over his and relief washes over him before everything goes black.

…

…

Steve feels a cold hand on his arm, jerking him out of the trip down memory lane. He trembles when he realizes that he had another flashback, and winces at how this must seem to James.

"Steve? Are you okay?"

Steve wants to nod, but he’s sick of saying he’s fine when he isn’t, so he doesn’t say anything.

"I'm sorry, James, it's been a couple of months, but this photo still brings back some... memories."

James looks inscrutably at Steve.

“Bucky.”

Steve almost misses that quiet statement. “Sorry, what was that?”

James looks uncomfortable when he repeats himself.

“You can call me Bucky.” A sidelong look at Steve before continuing, “Only people at work call me James.”

Steve, grateful about the change of topic, asks, “So why doesn’t Natasha call you Bucky?”

He spies a brief flicker of fond irritation on Bucky’s face. “Nat only calls me ‘James’ because she knows it annoys me.”

Steve feels like he has difficulty breathing every time a different expression flit across James’ - no, Bucky’s - face and feels a rush of warmth that Bucky is allowing him this small honor.

Looking down and realizing that Bucky had not moved his hand away from his arm and feeling the blood slowly return to his face, he can’t stop the warmhearted smile when looking at Bucky. With a start, Bucky’s mouth drops open before he quickly shuts it with a snap and hastily removes his hand from Steve’s arm. Steve feels disappointed at the lack of contact but shakes it off.

“Bucky huh. What is it short for?”

Bucky smiles lazily and shrugs, "Buchanan. I blame my parents.”

Steve can feel himself slowly get back to normal with their interaction as he chuckles weakly at Bucky.

“By the way, you’re here early today.”

Bucky blinks idly at him. “Nat dragged me out. Said I should get out more. She’s around if you’re looking for her.”

Steve shakes his head and shrugs. “I can find her later. I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you.”

An apprehensive eyebrow is raised in his direction, while Steve struggles with how to begin.

“...Did I do something to offend you?” Steve winces at his tone and clears his throat. “I mean, we were talking fine until you started avoiding me.”

Bucky looks at him adorably awkward and waves his hand.

“I had a... small... misunderstanding.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“Erm, Nat said something about you.. and.. um.. She just said something that I misunderstood.” Bucky looks like he’d rather be anywhere else that here at this moment.

"It’s fine now. You really don’t need to worry about it."

Steve would press harder, but then Clint suddenly pops up with a frantic expression on his face.

“Oh hi, James, good to see you again.” Clint greets Bucky quickly while insistently nudging Steve along, a worried whisper addressed at Steve, “Hurry, Steve, we gotta go, Coulson’s on the war path.”

Steve sees relief cross Bucky’s face at being interrupted as they head off, but Clint blocks his view as he turns back and waves at Bucky.

“Bye, James! Sorry to cut your convo short, see you in a bit!”

\------------------------------------

During the course of the day, Steve sometimes catches the sight of Bucky with Natasha when he’s being herded around. Every time he sees Bucky, he can’t control a pleased grin from crossing his face now that he knows he hadn’t done something to offend Bucky. Despite his lighthearted feelings, he remains focused and on task and Coulson looks impressed with his concentration. He lets him off early when the last of the important guests leave with a ‘Good job’ and knowing look.

Steve is only mildly surprised that the two of them are still around when they catch up to him before he leaves.

“I’m glad to see you’re still here.” Steve can’t stop himself from automatically grinning at Bucky and when Bucky actually grins back in response, Steve feels all knotted up in his stomach. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

“You too, of course, Natasha.”

She just sighs at his response and rolls her eyes at him.

“Hi, Nat, good to see you too.” Knowing that he isn’t paying attention, she continues, “I think I see Fury and Coulson dancing naked in the hallway! I’m going to go join them and have a hot foursome with Barton.”

Steve, too busy staring at Bucky, barely processes her words when Natasha slinks away. He chokes back a laugh and calls after her, “Be sure to give them my regards!”

She waves without looking back and leaves with a parting shot, “Text me the details or else!”

Bucky shoots back with a quick, “Mind your own business, Nat!”

Silence falls for a moment, the two of them staring at each other before Steve grins sheepishly at Bucky.

“Um so... Wanna come see my studio?”

\------------------------------------

**X.**

As the two of them arrive at Steve’s apartment, Bucky can’t resist a jab at him.

“Do you let anyone you’ve only known for three days into your studio?”

Bucky notices the tips of Steve’s ears turning pink as Steve pauses in the middle of unlocking the door and turns to him was a semi-disgruntled look.

“Do you just follow anyone you’ve known for three days to their studio?”

He pouts and clutches his chest in mock pain.

“You wound me, Steve. Not just anyone. Only you.”

Steve eyes him critically as Bucky grins boyishly.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls and boys that ask you out.” He turns back to his apartment, does a sweeping gesture and makes a little bow.

“Welcome to my humble abode. To the left there is the kitchen, that door over by the wall leads to my studio and the bathroom is further down the hall.”

The two of them shed their outerwear in the warmth of the apartment and as Steve hangs up Bucky’s jacket, Bucky eyes all the decor on his walls. His eye catches on one over the shoe rack, it’s a photo of a crowd of seagulls captured in mid-flight, a beach and sea contrasted behind them, pale yellow sand and green blue waves with cresting white. He wonders if Steve took it.

“Steve, did you take all these photos?”

Steve shakes his head.

”Some of them. Some are gifts from friends. I took the one you’re looking at though.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he bites down on his lip and doesn’t. Bucky wishes he hadn’t asked that question because it draws his gaze to Steve’s mouth and he really should not be looking at Nat’s friend like that.

“Anyways, let’s get warm.”

Steve leads the way towards the kitchen, Bucky trailing behind him, watching as Steve retrieves two mugs from the drying rack and places them on the table next to him. Even though it was a short walk from the gallery to Steve’s studio, it was a cold autumn night and Bucky was feeling colder than usual.

"Is hot chocolate okay? It's a bit late for coffee or tea but I can make those instead if you want."

Bucky shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise, standing by the counter in front of the stove and leaning on it, smiling lopsidedly at Steve.

“Make whatever is easiest for you. I’m not picky.”  
  
Steve nods quickly before retrieving a bottle of milk from the fridge. Bucky absentmindedly notes that Steve is really well built and the plain t-shirt he’s wearing is too small. Steve pours the milk into a saucepan and sets it on the stove at a medium heat before reaching in to a drawer for a stirring spatula. Bucky silently watches the back of Steve's shirt ride up as he rummages in the overhead cupboards to look for the powdered chocolate; he wonders if Steve is doing this on purpose because his shirt doesn’t move up enough and only serves to tease him with a view of skin that he wants to touch but shouldn’t. Steve makes a small triumphant sound when he finds the container and then turns back to Bucky.

“This hot chocolate is a special recipe that was passed down through my mum. You’re not allergic to anything are you?”

“I don’t believe so.” Bucky deliberately licks his lips and sees Steve’s eyes follow his tongue and linger on his mouth. Bucky mentally apologizes to Natasha as he feels his restraint snap after seeing his interest reciprocated. It makes him throw caution to the wind as he doesn’t want to let this chance pass by. There’s something nostalgic about Steve that nags at Bucky and he knows that it’s just out of his reach, but he just can’t remember. Pushing it away for now, Bucky concentrates on the present situation instead.

"Like what that you see?" Steve visibly gulps when Bucky teases him and doesn’t answer; he watches intently as Steve tears his gaze away, flustered and distracted from his task of making their warm drinks. Steve turns back to the stove, and Bucky decides to make his move before he changes his mind or before Steve runs away.

Pushing away from the counter, he takes a couple of steps towards Steve and when Steve turns to face him, Bucky leans in close enough to look like he was going to kiss him, but he reaches around Steve to turn off the stove instead. Then he moves back and eyes Steve thoughtly.

When a flash of disappointment crosses Steve’s face, Bucky feels the rest of his self-restraint snap and he pushes Steve against the stove, caging him in by aligning their bodies together. Steve tilts his head up at him and stares back unblinkingly as Bucky gently strokes the side of Steve’s face with his fingers before trailing them down to slowly trace his lips. He wants to take his time as he watches Steve, flushed and breathing shallowly, but Steve seems to have other plans. Steve grins mischieviously before turning his head, a tongue curling around his finger suggestively and Bucky feels himself going hot.

Thrusting his thigh between Steve’s legs, he plants an open-mouthed kiss against Steve’s. Steve’s lips are slightly chapped from the cold and as Bucky’s tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip, he finds that it’s mildly swollen from where he had bitten himself earlier. Bucky can’t resist a nibble and when Steve gasps at that, his tongue darts into Steve’s mouth, wanting a taste. Steve’s tongue presses insistently back against Bucky’s before he stiffens up and wondering briefly if he had misread Steve, Bucky pulls back with concern.

"I... I’m sorry, did I--?"

Dazed for a moment, Steve shakes his head before wincing slightly.

“The stove’s right there and it’s just a bit hot. Let’s... move somewhere else.”

Bucky grudgingly detaches himself from Steve and as he pulls him away from the stove, Steve suddenly surges forward and shoves him against the table behind them instead. The two mugs Steve had placed there earlier clatter from the force of the two of them hitting the table but Steve is busy fitting himself against Bucky and reversing the situation earlier.

Steve was not giving him a chance to recover because the next thing he knows, Steve has a warm hand around the back of his neck and is kissing him fiercely. There’s a demanding nip and as Bucky groans in surprise, granting him access, a warm tongue presses in and tangles with his. Bucky attempts to regain control, but Steve is giving as good as he gets and eventually they run out of air.

Reluctantly breaking apart, both panting heavily, Steve somehow brushes a sensitive part of his neck and he shivers in response. There is no doubt Steve is a hundred percent with the program because of the smug grin crossing his face.

“There, now we’re even.”

Bucky’s eyes flash at the challenge and throws the dirtiest, most seductive look he knows at Steve.

“We’ll have to see about that.”

\------------------------------------

**O.**

Bucky opens his eyes, sleeping one moment and awake the next, unsure what disturbed him until he realizes that Steve had such a firm grip on his right arm that he can’t feel his hand. He blearily looks around for a clock and see skewed green numbers flashing 3:21AM at him, and then lifts his head to look over at Steve, who is caught in the grip of a nightmare - soundlessly shivering, his entire body pulled taut.

Concerned, Bucky isn’t sure if he should attempt to wake Steve or even touch him; he’s heard that abruptly waking people from nightmares is a bad idea. He hopes that it’ll pass in a bit and Steve will wake up eventually, but as Bucky watches, it doesn’t seem to be getting any better when Steve is holding back whimpers now and the grip on his arm tightens even more. Bucky is caught off guard at feeling such a strong surge of protectiveness for someone he’d only met three days ago.

Maybe the words he said in jest when Steve asked him yesterday if he would just follow anyone home are true after all. Maybe it’s only for Steve that Bucky would do such impulsive things because the next thing he knows, he’s reaching over, trusting Steve to not hurt him, and gently smooths his hair back, Steve’s forehead clammy with cold sweat, making quiet, comforting noises.

“Steve? It’s okay, buddy. Everything is fine. You should wake up now.”

He doesn’t know how long he repeats this and slowly but surely it looks like something is working because Steve eventually relaxes under his hand. However, Steve suddenly jerks awake, takes one look at Bucky with horrified eyes and throws himself off the bed with a bitten back curse, letting go of Bucky’s arm like it burnt him, stammering apologies all the while.

“I’m so-so-sorry. I...”

The lights aren’t on, but the moonlight is bright enough to dimly illuminate the room. Bucky sees Steve squatting, back up against the wall, hands trembling as he wraps them around his knees and he takes in deep gulps of air.

“I.. I.. should have warned you, Bucky.”

Bucky sits up on the edge of the bed and rubs his arm gingerly, urging the circulation back into his appendage, all the while trying to figure out what to do next.

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. You can’t control what you dream about.”

Steve shudders in response and rubs his face tiredly before pulling his knees closer to himself.

“I really don’t want to hurt you. I should probably sleep on the couch tonight.”

Bucky quickly rejects that notion. “Steve, really. Don’t worry about it. Just come back to bed...”

As soon as he can feel his right arm again, he gets off the bed and slowly walks over to Steve, trying not to spook him. He deliberately reaches over and places a hand on Steve’s arm, leaving it there and letting Steve know that it’s his choice on whether to come back to bed or not. Steve stiffens up and tension practically vibrates off him, but Bucky ignores it and continues.

“It’s really late and we can talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Steve makes no move until Bucky finally yawns tiredly and gently tugs on his arm.

“C'mon, Steve.”

Steve struggles with himself briefly before sighing and leaning into Bucky’s hand.

“I didn’t want this to happen to you.”

“It’s okay. I know, Steve.”

When they’re back on his bed, Steve settles on the edge, trying to put as much distance as he can between them, but Bucky won’t have it. He shuffles over to Steve and curls up close but not enough to touch, and then purposely closes his eyes. He hopes that Steve will get his silent message of support as he slowly evens out his breathing. He can feel how rigid Steve is with the lack of distance between them, but Bucky refuses to budge. He doesn’t know what tomorrow’s talk would mean for the two of them, but he’s not going down without a fight because it’s been a while since he’s met someone that he feels comfortable enough to trust. There’s something nostalgic about Steve and it bothers Bucky that he can’t remember what it is - he hopes that by not thinking about it, it’ll eventually come back.

When Steve finally unwinds and haltingly nestles closer towards him, it doesn’t take long for Bucky to fall asleep.

\------------------------------------

**O.**

Despite last night’s nightmare, Steve is still an early riser and he isn't used to sleeping well after coming back from Syria. When he wakes up comfortably warm and feeling content for the first time in the past few months, Steve almost doesn’t want to get up until he realizes that there’s a heavy arm draped over him andsomeone is sleepily nuzzling him. Last night’s events come back to him in a flash and he goes rigid with suppressed panic and very gingerly inspects Bucky’s right arm to check for bruises. There are five distinct finger-shaped bruises in the general area of where his hand would have been holding onto Bucky’s arm and remorse floods him. He traces the marks hesitantly before glancing agitatedly at Bucky to see if he had woken him up with his panicked actions. Steve doesn’t know if he’s glad or not when he finds Bucky still breathing evenly, apparently still asleep.

He gently lifts Bucky’s arm up and slides away slowly, going still when Bucky snuffles at him before letting out a soft huff and then turning away from Steve, conveniently freeing him. Watching Bucky for a few moments to see if he’ll wake or not, Bucky settles down again and Steve quickly rolls off the side of the bed.

Last night, Bucky’s show of trust had left a strong impression on him - even after hurting him, Bucky had stayed when Steve couldn’t even trust himself. He feels the guilt and shame from last night settle in as he wonders what he had done to deserve someone like this.

Gingerly lifting Bucky’s jeans off a knocked down table lamp and placing it at the end of his bed, Steve winces at the mess of his room. He doesn’t need to go to the gallery today and he figures he can clean up later. He digs through his closet for some slacks and pulls them on before wandering out into the kitchen.

Strong cups of coffee would probably do them some good when they have their talk about last night, so he sets about making it, slightly soothed by this morning routine as the smell of coffee fills the kitchen. While the machine slowly spits out a second urn of coffee, Steve fills a mug for himself and decides to drop by his studio to check for any messages from SHIELD while he waits for Bucky to wake up.

\------------------------------------

**XO.**

Bucky wakes up to Steve unconsciously snuggling against him for warmth and he wraps an arm around him even though his arm is sore from where Steve had held on to him last night. He pulls Steve closer and smooths the worry lines on his forehead gently. They’re less pronounced when he’s sleeping and Bucky feels the same protectiveness he felt last night and can’t resist nuzzling Steve fondly. Bucky is an affectionate person by nature, but because he moved around so much when he was younger, he had learned to harden himself to making temporary connections so it would hurt less in the long run. Steve had somehow wormed his way past that and Bucky knows he has gotten too attached way too quick.

He’s about to doze off contently when he feels Steve's breathing change from sleep to the sudden stillness of consciousness. Judging from what had happened last night, Bucky knows that Steve will panic, so he pretends that he is still asleep. When Steve pulls his arm down to look at it, it’s difficult to feign slumber because Bucky twitches from the discomfort, but Steve is too distracted to notice.

Feeling Steve lightly touch his arm, he knows that Steve has found the bruises and wonders what he can say to convince him that it’s really not that bad. Bucky decides that giving Steve some time to calm down would be best, so when he feels Steve attempting to leave, he turns over for him. Bucky keeps his eyes closed as he listens to Steve fumble around before leaving the room.

He hears Steve tinkering around in the kitchen and then the smell of coffee slowly wafts through into the room. Bucky lies on the bed and decides to hug Steve’s pillow for a bit, the bed empty and cold without him, and he listens intently as Steve steps away from the kitchen. He gets up when he can’t hear Steve any more and looks around at the disheveled state of the room. He’s quite pleased with how last night had turned out despite Steve’s nightmare. Bucky doesn’t see a problem with one-night stands, but he hopes that this situation with Steve is different. There’s something about Steve that makes him want more and he’s not sure how to put what he’s feeling into the right terms.

Seeing that Steve had left his pants at the end of the bed, he pulls them on and straightens up the bedside table, straightening the digital clock he had looked at last night and placing the table lamp back in it’s original position. He makes a mental note to offer to help clean up the room after they talk and deciding that a suitable amount of time has passed, makes his way into the kitchen.

Suddenly feeling nervous, he pours himself a cup of coffee to steady his hands and calls out, “Steve? Where are you?”

There’s a pause before Steve’s muffled voice responds, “I’m in the studio.”

“Am I allowed to bring my coffee in?” Bucky knows that each photographer has their own quirks for their workspace, so he asks just in case.

“Yeah, just try not to spill anything.”

Bucky hesitates for the briefest moment, unsure about Steve’s state of mind, but he knows they have to talk about what happened last night, so he straightens his back, puts on his best poker face and enters Steve’s work space. He may have had other motives to visit Steve’s studio last night, but as a model, he’s also genuinely interested in the work that Steve does. They had been a bit too occupied last night for Steve to give him a tour of his studio, so he’s determined to at least take a look around today.

Bucky has heard of natural light photography studios, but this is his first time visiting one. He’s normally assigned photoshoots in simple enclosed studios because the lighting can be easily controlled. He’s not surprised that Steve would pick this kind of studio; it suits him and from what Bucky has seen of his work, Steve is really skilled at taking photos in it’s natural setting. Steve has a lot of books because in a corner are a couple of bookshelves, filled to the brim, and as he looks around the studio, Bucky spies some stacked backgrounds, props and lighting equipment as well as two work desks. A huge window replaces one of the walls of the studio with a smaller window on the adjacent wall. There are matching white curtains that Bucky assumes are reinforced to block out light when closed, but they are currently pulled back, allowing in a lot of sunlight.

Steve stands by his desk, his bare back facing him when Bucky enters and he instantly notices faded scars along his back. Feeling a strong surge of anger at whoever had done that to Steve, he reminds himself that this was not something he would ask unless Steve wanted to talk about it. Swallowing his anger, Bucky pauses awkwardly by a bookshelf, nursing his mug of coffee before saying anything.

“Hey...” “So...”

They both start talking at the same time and Steve looks at him self-consciously as he waves at Bucky to go first. Bucky stutters for a moment, unsure if he should bring up last night or let Steve broach the topic, and settles on something safe instead.

“Um, so, nice studio you have here.”

Steve smiles at him for a moment before it falters and turns into a guilty frown, looking down at his hands with a wince.

“I’m really sorry about last night, Bucky.”

“Please, I already said it’s not a big deal.”

Bucky strides over to Steve, placing down his mug carefully on the desk beside Steve’s, before thrusting his arm out in front of him, the finger-shaped bruises dark on his pale arm.

“Look, you gave me bruises, but they’ll heal. I’ve broken bones before, that hurt worse and took much longer to heal.”

“It’s not the same thing!” Steve protests, looking like he wants shake some sense into Bucky. “I should have warned you that I get nightmares. I hurt you enough to leave marks.”

Bucky can’t help but slyly grin at that, “I’ve been marked before, Steve. Not like this, but you know,” before sobering his expression. He slowly reaches out, trying not to spook Steve, and takes his hand.

“Look, Steve, I know you didn’t mean to do it. You also can’t control what you dream about, so..” Bucky squeezes gently and considers what he can do or say so that Steve would feel better.

“So, let’s say that you treat me to dinner and we’ll forget this and move on okay?”

He sees that Steve is torn between considering his suggestion and pulling his hand away and is pleased when Steve doesn’t let go. Giving him some time, Bucky’s eyes wander over his work desk. A couple of files line the inbox tray that Steve has set up on a mini-shelf and an orderly pile of magazines lie next to a sleek silver desktop. On the other side is a row of neatly lined photo frames.

Many of the photos are old and starting to fade, and the first one Bucky glances over is one of a baby boy and two people that he assumes are Steve's parents. As his eyes slide over to the next one however, time stops for Bucky and he recoils in shock, jerking his hand from Steve and rubbing his eyes in disbelief. He can’t comprehend what he is seeing, because despite how faded it is, it is a polaroid of Bucky when he was still a chubby child and a skinny looking Steve - the two of them were grinning wildly at the camera, grass stains on their shirts and arms slung over each others shoulders.

Confused at Bucky’s sudden shock, Steve looks at Bucky questioningly, following his line of sight to the photos on his desk. Steve isn't sure what to make of Bucky’s look because the photos are mainly of a personal and sentimental nature - his parents, the first photo he took as a child and that one photo of his childhood friend that he couldn’t bring himself to put away.

It takes less than a minute for Steve to piece things together because he looks between that one photo and Bucky and suddenly he _understands_.

A stunned silence falls between the two of them for a moment before they both start speaking at the same time.

“You!” “What!”

“I can’t believe--” “Is it really you??”

“How is this--” “I don’t--”

They both start and stop at the same time, but they can agree that this photo meant they had known each other when they were young. Still gaping slightly at Steve, Bucky looks at him in disbelief.

“How did you go from that--” He points at the photo and then back to Steve “--to this?”

Steve snorts at that. “Believe it or not, I joined the army for a while.”

He eyes Bucky appreciatively before jokingly saying, “You, on the other hand, were definitely cuter when you were a kid.”

Bucky smiles thoughtfully, “You know, I’m glad you turned out alright. I remember you being sickly and I was always worried that you wouldn’t be allowed to have fun when I came over.”

Steve shrugs, “My parents were always careful that I didn’t overexert myself. I was just glad to be around someone that didn’t fuss over me.” He hesitates for a moment before saying, “I never did get to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For treating me like I was normal. Even when I had been too sick to go outside, you’d still come over and visit and act like everything was fine.”

Bucky looks earnestly at Steve. Due to Bucky’s parents having to travel a lot for work, Bucky had never settled anywhere during his childhood and he had been unwilling to make friends only to say goodbye to them a couple of months later. But then Bucky’s family had moved next door to Steve, and Steve had always been the one exception - back then and now. When his family finally settled down in Russia, Bucky had carefully shut away those precious childhood memories of Steve, not expecting to see him again.

“You were always the exception, Steve. You were - are - my first friend.”

Bucky watches Steve fidget as he looks down as his hands indecisively and doesn’t know what to say, other than to look over at the polaroid and smile wistfully at it. At that exact moment, Steve’s stomach growls with hunger and they both freeze at the unexpected sound. Chuckling ruefully, Steve pats his stomach in embarrassment and when he does so, it looks like he has come to a decision.

“Let me make you breakfast, then we can clean up and afterwards, we should catch up, okay?”

Nodding, Bucky holds out his hand to Steve - he’ll take what Steve is willing to give him, but he doesn’t plan on going anywhere now that he’s found Steve again.

 

* * *

 

**\--Epilogue--**

After that night, Bucky left with promises to catch up, but work had intervened and he had to go back to Russia for a while. Bucky had apologized profusely and said he’d be back as soon as he could but he wasn’t sure how long it’d take.

Steve calls up Sam for their beer, and the two of them had gotten wasted enough that Steve insisted Sam sleep it off at his place. When Natasha and Clint dropped by unannounced, Steve finally had the chance to properly introduce them to each other and he's glad when Sam and Clint start joking around like they've known each other for years.

The three of them dropped by more often, starting impromptu movie nights and bringing booze, and while Steve was glad for their company, he found himself missing Bucky after their sudden reunion. They had kept in contact through email but they had been brief messages, both of them too busy or occupied to write anything longer.

The gallery viewing concluded two weeks later and with all the transactions processed and completed, Coulson had been pleased to inform Steve that they raised almost $2 million and that’s just from all his photos. Due to the nature of them, it had been eye-opening to say the least, and their sponsors all pledged to donate a certain amount to other refugee aid organizations. Steve’s efforts at keeping them happy on Fury’s orders had been successful and Steve is gratified that his friends didn’t die in vain and forgotten.

Coulson had given him a file with all the names of the winning bidders, but there was only one photo in particular that he wanted to know about. It turned out that an anonymous bidder had won at the last minute, and that meant the new owner would be collecting the display instead of getting it delivered to them.

Steve had an inkling of who it might be, but he could also be over-thinking it, so he decided to visit the gallery one last time before it closed; if he’s lucky, he would hopefully bump into this anonymous bidder.

\------------------

The gallery looks sadly desolate, dimmed lights and empty spaces left behind from the photos that had already been delivered to their winning bidders. There’s packing tape, cardboard and rolls of bubble wrap leaning against various walls with package foam cubes scattered across the floors as the delivery men work to bundle up the rest of the displays for shipment. Steve makes his way to the back of the gallery to find the display where he first met Bucky. It’s darker than usual so at first he thinks he’s alone, but then he sees that someone is already there, standing in shadows of the photo.

Heart in his mouth, Steve calls out to the figure carefully, “Hi, what are you doing back here?”

There’s a pause as Steve holds his breath and prays that it’s who he thinks it is.

Then, a sudden amused huff. “Am I not allowed to be here?”

Steve finds himself beaming happily as Bucky turns around with a matching grin to greet him.

“Did you miss me?”

Steve doesn’t answer as he walks up close to Bucky and pulls him into a tight hug, pressing his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck. The overwhelming relief of seeing Bucky again overshadows the lingering guilt of hurting Bucky, and now that he’s here again, Steve finds that he doesn’t want to let him go. Bucky seems surprised at Steve’s open affection before returning the hug and gently stroking his back.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, “Hey, I’m back. I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly.”

Steve doesn’t look up and sighs quietly into Bucky. After a moment, Steve releases him and Bucky steps back, a tender look in his eyes with the familiar smirk on his face.

“Now let’s go have that dinner you promised me.”

Steve just nods, throat tight with an unnameable emotion.

 

* * *

 

**\--Extra 1--**

Natasha couldn’t resist rubbing her hands together delightedly as she watches Bucky and Steve leave together on the third night. Clint just sighs, hands her fifty dollars and mutters to himself that someone meddling meant it shouldn’t count. She just smirks at the job well done and then whispers something in Clint’s ear. Clint looks warily at her, but a thoughtful look crosses his face.

“Phil would never agree to your suggestion in a million years.”

Natasha just raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll double the stakes.”

Clint never could resist her.

“...I’ll take you up on that.”

\------------------

**\--Extra 2--**

It is a beautiful day - the sun is shining, the sky is blue with nary a cloud in sight.

Bucky had returned with two ice cream cones and handed one over to Steve, but as Steve slowly licks away at the chocolate that is dripping down the side of the cone, he nudges Bucky in the side.

"James Buchanan Barnes --”

Bucky interrupts, a wicked grin on his face, “Oh, Steve, you know you make me tingle when you say my whole name like that.”

Steve blinks and stares hungrily at Bucky for a moment before shaking his head. “Let me finish!”

Bucky shrugs and turns back to his ice cream, motioning at him to continue.

“You have crap taste in locations. Coney Island really? This is super _cheesy_ and I am deciding where we are going next time okay?"

Bucky only hears ‘next time’ and just grins into his ice cream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
